by Lio Abendan John Royle I have been dreaming on unstable legs, hooves dipped into stagnant water, algae stained up the tawny side of my ankles. When they buckle like still-green sprigs, I pitch forward into the pond and emerge with my lashes dripping, blinking my murky eyes clear. Elain and the others nose me back towards the shore. They chide me for dreaming, their ears flicking at flies, but when I hang my head in penitence I hear them whisper between themselves, susurran